


the parentheses (all clicking shut behind you)

by peacefrog



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bondage, Clothing Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, Roleplay, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25415491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: Eliot dropped the last box onto the floor. “Daddy’s wardrobe is safe at last,” he said, lowering himself down into the gold chair with a sigh. “Though I can’t seem to shake the terrible feeling that Todd raided my closet at the Cottage before I could get to it all.”Quentin surveyed the damage from his spot on the sofa: there were at least seven large packing boxes bursting at their seams scattered around the penthouse. “I don’t know how you would even be able to tell. I’m pretty sure one of those boxes is just vests.”Eliot quirked a brow in his direction. “Some of us are cultivating an aesthetic, Quentin,” he said. “And I didn’t see you complaining when I let you dress me for dinner last night.”Quentin couldn’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t call picking between two pre-approved ties dressing you, El.”“I’m also counting the fact that you said my ass looked great in my new pants.”
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 34
Kudos: 155





	the parentheses (all clicking shut behind you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hoteldestiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoteldestiel/gifts).



> Written for the lovely Torie for round two of #NotAloneHere! This is the first of three fics I will be posting for this round. Torie requested Queliot suspender porn and just sort of let me go feral. I had so much fun with the banter in this one and just... writing these two being total idiots and love.
> 
> Takes place sometime after the events of 4x13, after everything is settled and all their friends have moved on to their own adventures, leaving Quentin and Eliot to live alone together in the penthouse. Enjoy!

Eliot dropped the last box onto the floor. “Daddy’s wardrobe is safe at last,” he said, lowering himself down into the gold chair with a sigh. “Though I can’t seem to shake the terrible feeling that Todd raided my closet at the Cottage before I could get to it all.”

Quentin surveyed the damage from his spot on the sofa: there were at least seven large packing boxes bursting at their seams scattered around the penthouse. “I don’t know how you would even be able to tell. I’m pretty sure one of those boxes is just vests.”

Eliot quirked a brow in his direction. “Some of us are cultivating an aesthetic, Quentin,” he said. “And I didn’t see you complaining when I let you dress me for dinner last night.”

Quentin couldn’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t call picking between two pre-approved ties dressing you, El.”

“I’m also counting the fact that you said my ass looked great in my new pants.”

A blush began to dapple itself high on Quentin’s cheeks. “If you’re trying to distract me by talking about your ass it’s not going to work.”

Eliot waggled his brows. “You sure about that one, Coldwater?”

Quentin swallowed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Shut up,” he said playfully, rising to his feet. “Come on. If we start TARDISing the closet now, it might be done in time for us to actually get some of this put away tonight.”

They went to the bedroom and started doing math. “Easily the sexiest thing we’ve ever done in this room together,” Eliot joked, and a whisper of heat crawled up the back of Quentin’s neck when he thought about the _actual_ sexiest thing they’d done the night before. 

The equations required to actually set up a dimension-transcending expansion charm were enough to give Quentin a headache, but once activated the whole thing essentially did the work on its own. It just took… a really, really long fucking time to finish. While they waited, Quentin sat on the floor picking through boxes, weighing the pros and cons of having a boyfriend with a wardrobe so large they had to store most of it in what was technically another dimension.

“No one needs this many ties,” Quentin said, running a strip of green and gold silk through his hands. “El, seriously, maybe we can just donate some of these to—”

“Don’t you dare,” Eliot said, snatching the tie away and placing it back in the box. “At least half of those are irreplaceable vintage treasures.”

Quentin gazed up at Eliot with something like adoration in his eyes. “You really are a bougie bitch, you know that?”

Eliot grinned, cocking his head to one side. “That’s former High King Bougie Bitch, thank you.”

“This is your Brakebills wardrobe, El. Fillory bougie is… on a completely different planet. Literally.”

Eliot considered this for a moment. “Still,” he said, kneeling next to Quentin on the floor. “Daddy needs his treasures.”

Quentin shook his head with a smile, shoving the box of ties aside and reaching for another. “Remind me to get you a crown the next time I’m at Burger King.”

Eliot leaned over and nuzzled into Quentin’s hair. “You’re such a brat,” he said, pressing a kiss to Quentin’s temple.

“You lo— _oh._ Oh hey...” Quentin lost his train of thought the moment he opened the second box. “It’s all your preppy shit.”

Eliot grinned at him incredulously. “My _preppy_ shit? I’ll have you know—”

“Preppy isn’t a bad thing, El,” Quentin cut him off with a playful nudge of his shoulder. “This is, um… this is how you dressed when we first met.”

Quentin touched the strap of a pair of dark blue suspenders, the collar of a shirt, losing himself for a moment in the memories.

“Okay, so…” Eliot laughed, pulling Quentin from his trance. “You’re really into those, hm?”

A blush crept over Quentin’s face. “I, um—yeah, maybe? I don’t know… you always did look good in suspenders.”

Eliot leaned down and smiled against Quentin’s ear. “Is this a nerd thing or a kinky thing?”

Quentin’s blush deepened by several shades. “I don’t know,” he said. “Um… maybe it could be both?”

Eliot nuzzled against Quentin’s cheek. “You know, Q, it's going to be a while before we can actually put any of this away,” he said. “So… you wanna dress daddy up for real this time?”

Quentin swallowed. “You’re serious?”

Eliot hummed. “Very.”

“Okay, um…” Quentin ran his fingers over a pair of slacks with reverence, his pulse picking up at once. “Okay. I, uh… I don’t know where to start.”

Eliot laughed and jumped to his feet. “Well, first, you’re going to tell me what else this nerd kink fantasy involves other than suspenders.”

Quentin stared up at Eliot for a long time, resisting the urge to climb him like a very tall, very sexy tree. “Well, um… I don’t know. I guess polo shirts are good?”

“I concur. What else?”

“High-waisted pants,” Quentin spit out, shocking even himself with his own enthusiasm. “Um… I don’t know what else.” He touched the curve of Eliot’s calf through his pant leg. “Honestly anything in this box is probably going to do it for me, El.”

“God, what did I ever do to...” Eliot grinned, running a hand over the top of Quentin’s head. “Okay, just—I’m going to take my… preppy shit. Into the bedroom. You wait here while daddy makes like an 80s movie montage, and then all your nerdy little wet dreams are going to come true.”

“God you’re a dick,” Quentin said fondly, watching as Eliot levitated the box up off the floor and in the direction of the bedroom.

“You love my dick,” Eliot said with a waggle of his brows, spinning on his heels and following the box through the bedroom door, then disappearing behind it.

_God, I really fucking do,_ Quentin thought, pulling himself up off the floor and going over to the gold chair to wait.

Several agonizing minutes later, when the bedroom door flew open, Quentin felt like he’d been hurtled back through time. Everything about Eliot’s appearance was almost exactly as it had been in those first months they’d spent together at Brakebills. He had one of his little gold bee pins on the collar of his diamond-patterned polo shirt, the other adorning a suspender strap. The high-waisted trousers made his legs go on for miles. He’d even styled his hair the same, though it was slightly longer now. 

Eliot leaned against the doorway, grinning, looking quite pleased with himself. And looking so goddamn unbelievably gorgeous it maybe broke Quentin’s brain a little.

He sauntered out slowly, giving Quentin a curious look. “Quentin Coldwater?” he said with a little tilt of his head.

Quentin groaned at the familiar, mock confusion in his voice. “What are you doing?”

“I’m Eliot,” he said, extending a hand that Quentin didn’t take. “You’re late.”

Quentin bit the inside of his lip to keep himself from smiling. Eliot was so lucky he was hot. “Sorry. I think you might be mistaking me for someone else,” he said. “I’m the one waiting for my disaster boyfriend to finish making himself pretty.”

Eliot knelt down at Quentin’s feet, wrapping arms around his middle, nuzzling into his neck. “Lucky boyfriend,” he said, punctuating his words with a kiss. “But too bad for Brakebills. We were really looking forward to teaching you a thing or two.”

Instantly, Quentin’s blood started to warm. He groped at Eliot’s back, his shirt, the straps of his suspenders. Eliot kissed his neck again, and Quentin spread his legs a little wider to draw him in.

“You know I, um…” A little laugh broke out of Quentin’s chest. “I think we probably have time for maybe one thing before my, um—before my boyfriend gets back.”

Eliot pulled back with a grin. “Hm, well… you’ll still have to take our entrance exam, of course.”

Quentin swallowed, doing his damndest to resist the urge to kiss Eliot’s pretty, perfect mouth. “Okay, uh… I might have time for that too.”

Eliot rose to his feet at once. “Follow me,” he said, taking Quentin by the hand and tugging him up from the chair.

They went into the bedroom. Quentin sat on the edge of the bed, eyes flicking up and down Eliot’s body as he shut the door with a flourish of his wrist. 

“Can we just, um… can we cut out the bullshit for ten seconds so I can just…” Quentin laughed, his face growing hotter. “So I can just look at you.”

Eliot held his perfect posture with a graceful ease, considering Quentin with a smirk. “Does your boyfriend realize what a wandering eye you have, Quentin? I can’t imagine he’d be very pleased to know you’re looking at other men this way.”

“Well,” Quentin said very softly. “I think he’d understand if he saw you.”

Eliot ran his hands down the straps of his suspenders, stepping forward slowly. “Naughty, naughty boy,” he teased. “Late for your exam, and now this? What are we ever going to do with you…”

Eliot pressed his knee in between Quentin’s legs on the bed, straddling his thigh. Quentin turned his face upward, and Eliot carded fingers in his hair, ghosting lips over his mouth but not yet making contact.

“Maybe you, um…” Quentin took a breath. “Maybe you’re just going to have to punish me.”

“Hm, well, Quentin, you see…” Eliot nuzzled their noses together. “Here at Brakebills University for Magical Pedagogy, our punishments tend to be a bit… unorthodox.”

Quentin gripped Eliot’s suspender straps and tugged him closer. “That’s okay with me,” he said, voice cracking a little. He was growing hard between his legs a little more by the second. “I’m sure you’ll be as fair as possible.”

Eliot hummed, suddenly pulling away. “Of course,” he said, taking a few steps back. “Before we begin, you’ll need to take off your clothes. But leave your underwear on, please.”

Quentin sucked in a breath. “Is this my punishment or my exam?”

Eliot’s eyes swept up and down the length of Quentin’s body as he stood. “It’s going to be both. Go on. You’ve already taken up so much of our time. And I’d hate for your boyfriend to come back and see you in such a state.”

It was stupid how crazy Eliot made him, Quentin thought. He could hardly believe it sometimes. Not just that he could love this big and this much—loving big had sort of always been Quentin’s modus operandi—but that he could _want_ Eliot so badly that his heart stutter-stopped in his chest, even after all this time. It was like a perpetual hunger, one that could never be sated. He could be spilling over with Eliot’s love for eternity, and still it wouldn’t be enough. 

Quentin made quick work of his clothes: shoes, socks, shirt, belt, pants. All tossed haphazardly around the room as Eliot stood at a distance watching, a cigarette dangling from his lips that he’d lit with the tips of his elegant fingers, thin wisps of smoke curling up around his perfectly manicured head. He extinguished it in the ashtray on the dresser the moment Quentin sat back down.

“Very good,” Eliot said, hands on hips. Quentin could see the gears turning steadily behind his eyes. “I’ll need you to lie in the middle of the bed for me now. And put your hands above your head.”

With a twirl of his hand, Eliot picked all the pillows up from the bed and moved them down onto the floor. Quentin shot him an incredulous look. “Will admission to the program be based on my willingness to show-off to the boys I’m trying to impress with my magical prowess?”

“Hush now,” Eliot said, pressing a teasing finger to Quentin’s lips. “Lie back. Go on.”

Quentin smiled, copping a quick feel of Eliot’s ass through his pants before complying.

“That was highly inappropriate, Mr. Coldwater,” Eliot said, watching Quentin stretch his arms up over his head. “I’m afraid I’m going to have no choice but to dock several points from your entrance exam.”

Quentin let a contented sigh fall from his mouth. “Devastating,” he said with a smirk. “But fair.”

Eliot hummed, his eyes going to his open wardrobe box where it sat on the floor. “I always am,” he said absently, raising his hand and casting quickly. Out of the box, a pair of red suspenders began to emerge.

Eliot fixed his gaze on Quentin, crawling up onto the bed and straddling his thighs. “Tell me,” he said, casting again as the suspenders floated down and began looping themselves loosely around Quentin’s wrists, “does your boyfriend ever tie you up?”

Quentin sucked in a breath when Eliot’s enchantment took hold, securing the straps in place, a dozen different memories wheeling through his mind: Eliot’s silk scarves; Eliot’s ties; the slide of soft red rope knotted elaborately up the length of his body; once, a black leather belt; a set of fuzzy handcuffs they kept in the bedside table; sometimes, nothing more than one of Eliot’s strong hands holding Quentin’s wrists firmly over his head.

“Sometimes,” he said, tugging at his binds just to feel the firm grip of Eliot’s magic. “Do you tie up all your students?”

“No,” Eliot said, a hand trailing down the bare expanse of Quentin’s sternum. “Just the pretty ones.”

Quentin laughed. God. He was pretty sure he was the luckiest man alive. “If this is meant to be my punishment, I gotta say… you’re not doing a very good job.”

Eliot quirked a brow, his hands curling around the dip of Quentin’s waist. “If you’re done talking back, Mr. Coldwater, we’re ready to begin the exam.”

Quentin smirked, desire pooling hotly down between his legs. “Go on, Professor,” he said. “It is Professor, isn’t it?”

“Dean,” Eliot said, and Quentin couldn’t help the laugh that barked out of his chest.

“Oh my god,” he said, his whole body trembling with laughter. “Dean Waugh. Eliot, you can’t just—that sounds way too much like—”

A finger pressed to Quentin’s lips. “Quiet,” he said, his lips tight like he was only just barely suppressing a laugh. “Or would you rather I fail you right away?”

Quentin bit his lip to keep from laughing again. “Sorry,” he said. “Go on. Dean Waugh.”

Eliot gave him a playful look, mouth twitching with the promise of a smile. “Very good,” he said, moving his body downward until he could push Quentin’s legs apart and settle in between them. “Now, for your exam, I’m going to need you to orgasm.”

“Well that doesn’t sound like any exam I’ve ever heard of,” Quentin said. His dick was hard and getting harder, Eliot’s magic thrumming like a pulse in the binds around his wrists.

“I assure you,” Eliot said, pushing Quentin’s knees up so that his feet were pressed flat to the bed, “it’s very standard magical practice.”

Quentin cocked his head to one side. “I’m going to need you to explain that one for me, Dean Waugh, sir.”

“Well, you see...” Eliot purred, settling down on his elbows, ghosting his mouth over the growing line of Quentin’s erection through his boxers. “I can only measure your magical ability after I make you come. It’s all very scientific. I’ll spare you the jargon.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Quentin said, grinning now from ear-to-ear. “Don’t you need to take off my underwear first?”

“Oh… oh no,” Eliot said, nosing up along the line of Quentin’s dick through the fabric, mouthing at the head until Quentin’s hips bucked up into the contact. “This is also your punishment, remember.”

Quentin writhed on the bed, a sharp-edged wave of pleasure ripping through him like an earthquake. “Fucking—goddammit, El,” he whined, with no care of concern for what role he was supposed to be playing now. “Will you at least let me look at you if you’re going to torture me?”

Eliot pinned Quentin’s hips to the mattress with two strong hands. “Insubordination is grounds for expulsion, young man,” he said, glancing up at Quentin with a full-faced grin.

“How can you expel me when I haven’t even been admitted yet?” A laugh ripped out of Quentin’s chest that quickly rolled into a groan. “You really have to work on your narrative coherence.”

Eliot licked a long stripe from the base of Quentin’s dick all the way to the head, the fabric nearly soaked clean through. “Sounds like someone’s itching for a paddling.”

“Eliot,” Quentin breathed, a little whine slipping out of his throat, suddenly desperate for something he couldn’t even name. “Eliot, please, I—I want my boyfriend back.”

Eliot’s mouth stopped cold where it was working Quentin’s dick over through his shorts. “But we haven’t even finished your exam.”

“I don’t care. I—” He gave Eliot a serious look. “Chankly Bore.”

Eliot’s expression turned grave at once. Quentin had only used their safe word—safe phrase, safe point on the map of Fillory, whatever—one other time before now, months ago, right around the time Eliot had insisted they come up with something to begin with. When it had been the only way Eliot would even consider tying Quentin up, or turning him over his knee, or putting hands around his neck, or sinking teeth into the flesh of his shoulder. And it had been a necessary thing at the time, Quentin knew. Post-Monster, post… bucketloads of every possible trauma a person could experience and a few he was pretty sure they’d invented on the spot. At the time, Quentin maybe hadn’t been altogether himself.

But now, fuck—Quentin instantly regretted letting that phrase fall out of his mouth. This wasn’t… that. At least he didn’t think it was. Maybe they needed another word for whatever this was. That was probably something they were going to have to talk about.

Eliot crawled up the length of Quentin’s body, straddling his hips, immediately going for the binds at his wrists. “Please,” Quentin choked out. “Leave them. I’m okay, I—”

“You’re not okay if you’re saying... that.” Eliot’s voice was thick with emotion, his hands steadily working to undo his own well-stitched magic.

“El, please, I—I don’t wanna stop. I promise, baby. Baby, listen... I just want you. I just want you.”

Eliot’s fingers went still on the straps. That word— _baby_ —coming from Quentin’s mouth was such a rarity, it seemed to throw him more than even the safe word had. “You’re sure?”

Quentin nodded. “Yeah,” he said with a smirk. “God, I just… look at you. You’re so fucking hot it’s stupid.”

Eliot seemed to relax a little then, smiling easily, moving over to lie down at Quentin’s side, nuzzling into the space between his raised arm and his neck. “You sure you wanna stay tied up?”

“Yeah,” Quentin said, a little shiver running through his body as Eliot mouthed at the hollow of his throat. “I didn't mean to freak you out, I—this is how I want it. I promise.”

“Tell me what else you want, sweetheart,” Eliot purred, hand moving down to paw at the front of Quentin’s boxers.

“I wanna look at you,” Quentin whimpered. His dick that had been going soft just a moment ago was quickly filling under Eliot’s hand. “I wanna look at you while you jack me off.”

Eliot grinned against Quentin’s cheek. “God, am I nothing more than a piece of meat to you, Coldwater?” he teased before pulling away. “Okay. As you wish.”

Eliot moved back down the bed, kneeling between Quentin’s parted thighs again. “Lift up,” he said, tugging at the waistband of Quentin’s boxers, tossing them away once he had them off. “God… there you are. That's a pretty boy...”

Quentin spread his thighs wider, eyes raking down Eliot’s body and back up to his face. He was so hot he was so hot he was so— 

“Touch me,” Quentin whined. “Oh, god, El, please just—just get me off already.”

“So demanding,” he teased with a smirk, quickly going through the motions of the lube spell, wrapping his hand around Quentin’s dick and getting him slick once he was through. “The things I do for you. Turning myself into your Second Year wet dream, and now this...”

“You love me,” Quentin moaned, fucking up into Eliot’s fist, so tight and wet and warm. “God, you love me so much. Even if you’re an idiot who refuses to say it.”

“Hey now,” Eliot started massaging Quentin’s balls with his free hand. “I—I say it.”

“Say it then. Say it, El, say it. Say—” Quentin breathed, his hands bunching into fists above his head, his toes curling against the mattress. He was so goddamn close already he was going to—

“I love your dick.” When Eliot laughed, it was a broken sound. The front of his slacks were tenting in a way that made Quentin’s mouth water at the sight. “I love your mouth, your—your hands, your perky little ass, your—fuck, I love those stupid little noises you make in your sleep.” Eliot moved the hand on Quentin’s balls down to the strip of skin below, teasing with the promise of more. “I love the way you say my name. I—I love the way your lips move when you read. The—the way your eyes go all crinkly in the corners when you smile.”

Quentin keened, back arching up off of the bed, his dick throbbing in Eliot’s tight grip. “More more more,” he begged, his voice cracking and his balls drawing tight.

“I love how warm your body is when you wake up in my arms. I—I love walking into a room and seeing you there. I love living with you like this. Just the two of us. I—fuck, I love the face you make when you’re about to come. That—that one right there, yeah. Fuck, Q, yes—come for me, baby, come—”

Eliot’s words were swallowed up by the sound of Quentin crying out. Eliot went all blurry in his vision, the world turning to stars as he screwed his eyes up tight and let the pleasure rip from his center and out into the rest of him like a tsunami. Eliot stroked him through it until he was going soft and every nerve in his body was a frazzled, over-stimulated mess.

The ringing in his ears, the way he could feel his pulse thumping in his neck. The way his whole body seemed to hum. Quentin loved everything about the moments just after, when everything was white-out bliss, when he could just forget he even had a mind. When there was only his body and Eliot’s body and their bed.

Quentin’s vision came back to him slowly, and when he opened his eyes it was to Eliot licking the come from his fingers, using his free hand to unwind the magic holding the suspenders around Quentin’s wrists in place. The second he was free, Quentin was reaching for Eliot.

“Come here,” he breathed. “Hey, hey—come let me take care of you now.”

Eliot sucked on the tip of his index finger, looking perfectly content. When he was finished, he collapsed at Quentin’s side, tucking his head up under Quentin’s chin with a tremendous sigh.

“Not yet, baby,” Eliot breathed, their arms winding around each other on instinct, slotting their bodies together like perfectly fitted cogs. “We’re saving that part for round two.”

Quentin laughed silently. “Round two sounds like fun.”

Eliot hummed. “Yeah. Round three sounds even better.”

“Can round four be a nap?”

“Yeah,” Eliot said. “Maybe the closet will be done before we get to round five.”

“Shit,” Quentin said with a laugh. “I forgot about the TARDIS closet. We’re gonna need like… so many hangers, El.”

Eliot pressed a soft kiss to Quentin’s chest. “No hangers in my multi-dimensional wardrobe space,” he said. “We have enchantments for that, my love.”

“You’re so pretentious,” Quentin said with a contented little sigh.

“You love me,” Eliot mumbled. “And you love my wardrobe.”

Quentin smiled with his entire face. “Yeah,” he said, drawing Eliot just a little bit closer. “And you love me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was such a fun little detour from writing my current long fic. Thank you all for reading and for always being so lovely to me.


End file.
